My brief experiment with catering on Saturdays is officially over, due to widespread protests from the lower back and quad-muscle lobbies. (I’m nothing if not responsive to my constituencies.) If I hadn’t made this decision after last week’s grueling experience, I would be working some seaside wedding right this moment. Instead, I am sitting on my ass, reading blogs and catching up on my Tivo’d Whose Line Is It Anyway (I’m an improv geek, and Wayne Brady is smoking hot.)
I will now call to order the Cape Cod chapter of Bookworms Enamored with Seated, Sustainable Income Employment. (a.k.a. BESSIE. Motto: “moooo…”)
It’s almost worth my while to take a difficult, labor-intensive job every once in a while, just for the relief I feel when I don’t have to do it any more. Almost. Maybe I’ll do this again in six months, in case I forget what a pencil-pushing pansy I am.
And the goddess of freelance jobs has been showering me with praise and earthly delights ever since I made the “It’s Not You, It’s Me” phone call to the caterers on Monday. That very afternoon, I received a long-awaited check for a one-off job I did over the summer (though unfailingly polite, these particular Canadians were alarmingly slow with the ol’ checkbook, even by freelancer standards), I got an email from an editor I hadn’t heard from in a long time that I’d have a fair bit of work coming my way soon, and got a (favorable) response to a cold-call resume I sent months ago to someone else entirely.
So clearly I did the right thing.
In other news, I’m pretty sure my Dad has accidentally stumbled across my blog, since he keeps sort of elliptically quoting bits of what I’ve recently posted, then acting all casual about it. And of course I don’t have the steely-eyed temerity to ask, because if I did, then he’d say “You have a blog? What’s the address?” because he’s recently discovered blogs and then I’d be stuck. Not that I write anything incriminating about him in this space (or any other for that matter), in fact I seem to recall I mostly say extremely nice things about him, it’s just that so far, I haven’t told any of my family or non-bloggish friends about my wee blog. I’m shy like that.
So if you’re out there, Dad, go ahead and comment! Don’t be shy! (So I know it’s you, mention the name of your new boat…. aaahhh, aren’t I clever? Subverting the intentions of evil commenters who might just sign their post “dad” and get me all off-guard and whatnot? I should be a spy.)
Yeah, I know, unnecessary subterfuge. It’s my middle name.